Day 2 is done at Lollapalooza in Grant Park, and what a day Saturday was: It was sandwiched by much-anticipated sets by Chief Keef and Frank Ocean, and in between came the first evacuation in the festival’s Chicago history. Here’s how it went down, with reporting from yours truly (GK) and the tireless Bob Gendron (BG):

12:15 p.m.: Chief Keef, the South Side teen rapper with the Interscope record deal, is a late addition to Lolla, and he invites what seems like every friend and hanger-on he ever met to his party. There are about 20 rappers, or would-be rappers, or hype men on stage with him. And that doesn’t include a half-dozen more wielding cameras and cellphones for the inevitable YouTube breakdown. Keef doesn’t exactly seize the moment. Instead, he melts into the crowd on stage, serving as cheerleader and towel-waver while joining in on a few choruses. The chant-like songs celebrate the size of his gun, drug stash, bank roll and manhood. The sound of gun shots booms through the speakers at regular intervals, a jarring reminder not just of Keef’s gangbanger rhymes, but of one of the most violent summers in Chicago history. In blurring the line between life and music, Keef speaks from first-hand knowledge; he was recently under house arrest on a gun charge. The set concludes with his huge digital hit, “I Don’t Like,” a menacing litany of complaints that is one of the catchiest sneers in gangsta-rap annals. Those hoping for a more focused look at Keef’s skills as a hip-hop craftsman and MC may leave wondering what all the fuss is about. But Keef undoubtedly couldn’t care less. He speaks to an audience with a different standard of relevance. In a festival with largely safe, predictable choices, Keef is a disturbing exception. (GK)

12:33 p.m.: "Can I get an 'Amen'?," asks J.C. Brooks, pretending as if it's Sunday at a Baptist church rather than an already scorching Saturday early afternoon. Leading his Chicago-based Uptown Sound through a retro-soul workout that yearns for peak-era Stax thrills, he joins soul and gospel as one, and to nobody's surprise, pulls out his horn-stoked cover of Wilco's"I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" as the clincher. Between Brooks and Chief Keef, Chicago represents. (BG)

12:51 p.m.: Doomtree holds myriad lessons for other hip-hop collectives. The Minneapolis crew doesn't waste a second of time and hits hard and fast, with four MCs spitting lyrics both together and individually. The tag-team approach pairs with bone-rattling bass and shock-wave backing tracks. Yet the latter, often the foundation of much rap, are merely here for support. Dessa slings words and causes rhymes to slouch; P.O.S. leads chants and sustains the bouncing funk vibes. Adorned in jeans and denim vests, some of the members look as if they should be driving motorcycles. Little about Doomtree subscribes to convention. And that includes its affinity for melody, a secret weapon more peers should utilize. Factor in the punk, gospel and R&B threads woven together with the narratives, and this is as convincing a set as the weekend as yet seen. "It's early but pretend it's late," declares Doomtree, which clearly takes its own advice to heart. (BG)

1:20 p.m.: Several youth walk along the large fences along Lake Shore Drive, spying the hurdles they face if they choose to defeat the security measures. Just a block away, one adolescent is apprehended as his friend stares with sad, puppy-dog eyes from behind the fence. He's lucky. Once again, it looks as if the Drive will again be ground zero for gatecrashers. (BG)

1:21 p.m.: “I never thought where I come from that I’d ever play Lollapalooza,” says Chancellor Warhol, the Nashville MC born Antonio Dewayne Boleyjack. The colorful name matches an equally bold personality, as the good Chancellor makes the most of the unimaginable opportunity he’s finally attained. He even finds a trace of cowbell-spiced funkiness in Gotye, splashing rhymes atop a sample of “Somebody that I used to Know.” A guitarist from Cage the Elephant adds discordant riffs to another tune. And he pays unlikely tribute to Friday’s Lollapalooza headliners. “Black Sabbath? That’s a legend, man. You better see him because he about to die.”

1:54 p.m.: Out of shop class and onto the stage. No performers embody the "dude" concept at the festival more than brothers Jake and Jamin Orrall, whose scruffy garage rock and basement-filtered psychedelia are the stuff of any male teenager's dream, circa 1976. The fog machine operates in overdrive throughout the set, missing only a portable shag carpet to provide a soft landing for Jake when he drops to his knees. One gets the impression these affable gents would drive 700 miles for the privilege of playing a dive bar and accept two six-packs and a few spare cigarettes in return for their labor. Jake also commits the weekend's worst fashion faux pas, dressing in a sleeveless denim vest and shorts, and flashing a bushy mustache that's as carefree as the duo's simple bang-and-thud fare. There's no sadness in view, and for good reason: The Orralls are normal fans as much as professional musicians. They're happy to be here, professing their love for the Red Hot Chili Peppers and profusely thanking the crowd for listening. (BG)

2:25 p.m.: Matt Vasquez dumps a bottle of water over his head. The Delta Spirit front man is gutting out sweltering temperatures but seems to pick up more steam the hotter it gets. One year removed from a lackluster performance at the same fest, the California quintet won't be denied and heads into every tune with a live-for-the-moment hunger. Vasquez's scratchy, yowling voice seamlessly suits the drifter protagonists and hardscrabble realities in the ensemble's tunes. He conveys desperation and torment, but also grounded optimism and willing sacrifice. He's also persuasive, turning "California" into an anthem and blowing on a harmonica to advance a jamboree feel. Other accoutrements--a trash-can lid, extra bass drum, maracas, boogie-woodie piano---add to the amped-up Americana squalls. Careening distortion whistles like a howling wind through trees as Vasquez screams, and when it's over, Delta Spirit emerges triumphant, battered but not defeated. (BG)

2:35 p.m.:Aloe Blacc defies the heat in a sport jacket, discarding it after nearly 30 minutes on stage. He’s a genial entertainer and singer, and he runs a taut soul band. He throws his arms wide while exulting to a friend, a lover, or maybe God, “You made me smile.” He prompts the crowd to join a “Soul Train” dance party, evoked by a horn-stoked ‘70s groove. And he rides a reggae bass line while delivering a rap on how trickle-down economics has run dry. (GK)

3:30 p.m.: Fans are abuzz as the Lollapalooza smartphone application is telling all fans they must evacuate immediately due to incoming severe weather. Announcements telling people to evacuate are made from stages and posted on video screens. Confusion reigns. (BG and GK)

3:45 p.m.: There’s darkness on the very distant horizon, but the weather radar says big trouble is on the way, and security officials are beginning to usher ticket-holders out of Grant Park and onto Michigan Avenue. The music has stopped, and the park is oddly silent as fans realize this isn’t a drill. Traffic is still moving on north-south streets outside the park, but police have blocked off several east-west streets to accommodate the overflow as tens of thousands spill out of the park at once. Yes, indeed, the first evacuation in Lollapalooza’s eight-year Grant Park history is a reality. Later, the festival reports that more than 60,000 people and 3,000 staff, artists and vendors are evacuated in 38 minutes. The evacuees were to have been evacuated to three underground parking garages in the vicinity, according to promoters, but word is slow to spread to security staff. Most fans simply head west and fan out across Michigan Avenue, ducking inside hotels, bars and restaurants, or hanging out in doorways and on covered sidewalks. (GK)

4:05 p.m.: Some Lollapalooza fans cluster at a restaurant near Michigan and Roosevelt. Everyone is calm and orderly as they stream towards hotels and pubs, but wondering exactly what will happen later. "I thought they were joking at first," says Chicagoan Brent Seberhagen about the onstage announcement to evacuate. "Like some Ashton Kusher thing." He's fine with the delay as long as all of the bands get to play. His girlfriend, Gabby Robles, concurs. "As long as we see all the bands we don't care if we have to stay until midnight. Or they should let us in tomorrow for free. We paid for this." (BG)

4:22 p.m.: Attendees stay calm as the rain squalls hit. Some welcome the downpour and stand out in the middle of 11th Street, jumping in water overflowing from sewer drains. Others just want to go back to the fest and get the reassurance no artist will be canceled. "I thought they were joking at first," says Chicagoan Brent Seberhagen upon hearing the onstage announcement to evacuate. "Like some Ashton Kutcher [prank]." His girlfriend, Gabby Robles, simply wants to get to see what she paid to experience. "As long as we get to see all the bands, we don't care if we have to stay until midnight. Or they should let us in free tomorrow." (BG)

4:25 p.m.: Police on bikes shout to people on Congress Parkway to clear the street as rain starts to fall. Hundreds are massed beneath an overhang outside the Congress Hotel, where a vendor hawks Lollapalooza T-shirts for $10. (GK)

4:40 p.m.: The rain is hammering down, then starts coming in sideways as winds pick up in intensity, but the Lolla refugees are cheering and running onto Congress Parkway, where they dance to makeshift drums and shout, “U.S.A.! U.S.A.!” as if cheering at an Olympic event. (GK)

5:07 p.m.: Fans gathered at restaurants and bars near 11th Street and Michigan Avenue stream for nearby gates as nobody is manning them and they remain open. Technically, this entrance is not supposed to be general access but dozens enter without problem. Later, security within the festival grounds are surprised to see festgoers are in the restricted area. They attempt to turn several frustrated fans away toward conventional access points. Field conditions on the south end are horrendous. It is a swamp, with inches of standing water and ankle-breaking mud on more than half of the grounds. It's likely Grant Park will require many repairs given that last year's storm occurred on the final day. We still have Sunday to go. Anyone coming for Day Three would be well-advised to wear boots and bring mosquito repellant. (BG)

6 p.m.: The rain abates, gates reopen, and fans start filing back into Grant Park after being booted out 2 ½ hours earlier. The security crew retires the scanners used to check in ticket-holders, and instead does a visual inspection of wrist bands to speed re-entry. The fans cheer, audibly excited that the festival will resume, and the march back inside is fairly orderly. (GK)

6:45 p.m.: “We made it!” says Tune-Yards’ Merrill Garbus as she takes the stage, starting nearly two hours after her scheduled starting time. “Thanks for coming back.” During the delay, promoters reconfigure set times and receive permission from the city to extend the event 45 minutes past its normal 10 p.m. finish. But several bands are axed from the schedule, including the vaunted Alabama Shakes, B.O.B., Chairlift, and Chicago rockers Empires. Garbus makes the most of her 30 minutes on stage, electronically looping her voice into an ecstatic, wordless choir and thrashing her ukulele over double-saxophone blasts and bass. (GK)

6:46 p.m.: After a slight delay, the band fun. leaps onto the stage. "Let's just sing along and dance, alright?," says vocalist Nate Ruess, whose hyperactive enthusiasm translates via skipping, spinning and juking maneuvers. The group coneys a carnival atmosphere on the opening "One Foot," with bright synthesizers suggesting circus themes and balloons bounding in the air. Whether it owes to an underwhelming sound system, the overflow crowd or bad timing, the New York trio cannot harness the explosive inertia that has propelled its "We Are Young" single. Fun. isn't a secret, still this lacks the makings of the breakout performance the band needs to distance itself from one-hit-wonder status. (BG)

7:50 p.m.: As the driving force in the Weeknd, Abel Tesfaye makes introspective, lacerating R&B spread out over three excellent 2011 mix tapes. But how would this singularly complex style translate on a big stage? Tesfaye answers the question with a strong performance that is short on gimmicks, but long on riveting vocal drama. As he stands in the spotlight, his voice veering between muttered threats and come-on’s and falsetto pleas, Tesfaye looks very much the wounded loner, a Sinatra-esque balladeer singing for only the lonely. (GK)

8:07 p.m.: Remember that song? The audience goes crazy as Franz Ferdinand lights into the 2004 hit "Take Me Out" and converts the north end of Grant Park into a sprawling dance floor. Part of the turn-of-the-century's post-rock revival, the Scottish quartet has been quiet for several years. Perhaps the absence, and drop off mainstream radars, explains the band's extremely strong performance. Franz Ferdinand tear into disco-etched grooves, gang choruses and well-lubricated rhythms with much to prove. With his suave baritone and dour accent, singer Alex Kapranos oozes attitude and control, matching the prancing pout and spring-loaded strut of songs such as "No You Girls" and "Walk Away" at each turn. Exuding confidence, the group even tests out several promising new songs ("Scarlet and Blue," "Right Thoughts") and nails a few impromptu bars of Donna Summer's "I Feel Love." (BG)

8:30 p.m.: After being cooped up indoors for a couple hours waiting out the rain, Lolla patrons are ready to cut loose. The storm has turned much of Grant Park to swamp, and mud people are everywhere after diving into the goop. Calvin Harris provides the soundtrack for the insanity at the Perry’s stage. The British DJ and producer draws one of the weekend’s biggest crowds, which fills the field west of Columbus Drive and spills out onto the street. Once again, no other music at any other stage all weekend has the impact felt here, with thundering bass lines, galloping drums and synthesizers squealing like the brakes on an 18-wheeler all conspiring to drive thousands of teens and early-twentysomethings into a collective frenzy. The armada of video screens turns the erstwhile softball diamond into a mini version of Times Square on New Year’s Eve. (GK)

8:44 p.m.:Orchard Lounge oversees a pedestrian mix of electronica and chillwave that fails to live up to the illuminated stage setup and rotating spotlights. At least the deejay collective distinguishes itself from the majority of other electronic acts at the fest by opting for relaxation instead of raucousness. The real story, however, is just how empty the north end of the park becomes shortly before the night's final headlining performance. Fewer people watch Orchard Park (seldom visible amid the props) than witnessed Friday's fest-starting First Aid Kit on the same stage. Such vacancy is unprecedented for Lollapalooza this time of day on a Saturday night. Meanwhile, Columbus Drive is nearly impossible to traverse due to the throngs congregated outside of Perry's and close to the southernmost stage, where the Red Hot Chili Peppers will play. (BG)

10:03 p.m.: Populist festivals call for popular music, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers don't dare deviate from the script. Echoing its concert just a few months ago at Allstate Arena, the quartet clings to an array of radio smashes and easily digested sing-a-long ditties. Singer Anthony Kiedis even sports the same trucker's-style hat. Rhymed couplets, shifty hooks, wordless refrains and jive-talked verses abound. Several instrumental segues provide cushioning between the pop-leaning hit parade. Familiar commercial fare such as "Can't Stop," "Snow (Hey Oh)," "Otherside," "Suck My Kiss" and "Around the World" afford bassist Flea just enough room to flex his funk muscles. He proudly stands as the group's anchor, and balances his animated Gumby moves with occasional fits of freak-out noise. He also plays comedian and emcee. "Be kind, be gentle and be nice," he instructs. "And [mess stuff] up." At times, it's obvious the group desires to get weird, just as it did decades ago. A slinky "If You Have to Ask" and subsequent jam coda revel in eccentricity. Primarily, tried-and-true methods prevail, and the PG-13 party for the mud-splashed masses unfolds just like a blockbuster popcorn film in which everybody already knows what's going to happen and loves the movie nonetheless. (BG)

10:22 p.m.: She’s got style. And scintillating songs. Accompanied by two choreographed dancers and a full band, all dressed in a black-and-white theme that mirrors her own apparel, Santigold commands with Caribbean flavors, dancehall vibrations and a remarkable set of pipes. Her pop slithers and saunters, a perfect tonic for a fine summer evening. The only clash? The aural and visual dreaminess is at odds with flashing ambulance lights, a reminder that not everyone survived the day without incident. (BG)

10:45 p.m.: Frank Ocean concludes his hour-long set with “Pyramids,” a nine-minute track that begins in Ancient Eygypt and winds up in a tawdry strip-club. Ocean is not short on ambition, and his music brims with sharply turned phrases, extended metaphors and tangled emotions laid out in vivid images. Yet for all his accomplishment as a storyteller, his skill at stringing together complex ideas and 10-dollar words, Ocean commands with a voice that makes it all seem rather effortless. His voice floats over acoustic guitars at the outset, projecting a conversational, Jobim-like ease. He moves into the treacherous waters of “Novacane,” a song ostensibly about drugs, but more poignantly the numbing ache of loneliness. Indeed, isolation is among the prevailing themes in Ocean’s work, and it underlines every note he sings. He never asks for pity, but instead coveys a weary acceptance. He threads “Strawberry Swing” into the indelible hook he sang on the 2011 Kanye West-Jay-Z track “Made in America.” And he keeps “Bad Religion” stark and simple, his four-piece band laying back as he pours out his tale of unrequited love. It’s the best set I’ve seen at Lollapalooza so far. (GK)

In a culture where we whip ourselves into instant media frenzies and then move on forgetting only days later what it was that so upset us, maybe Trevor Noah’s tweets won’t be such a big deal by the weekend.

Just as the classical music world was shaken up by advocates for playing Bach and Mozart on historically authentic instruments, the theater world has received a jolt from advocates for performing Shakespeare in a historically authentic accent.

Single Carrot Theatre has returned to the work of theater maverick Charles Mee, who doesn't just create plays of genre-stretching originality, but also publishes them online so anyone can have free access.